(Sorry for formatting, I’m on mobile. Also this had to be written twice, because. . . Reddit.)

“You want me to. . . what?”

Therion’s voice cracked, his eyes wide with fear, but the king clicked his tongue.

“Now, now, hero,” he chastised, a smirk crossing his face; it looked more like a benevolent smile to anyone who didn’t know the threat veiled behind it, but Therion’s heart pummelled his ribcage as the king he didn’t even know the name of continued, “Most men your age would kill for this kind of chance! The thrill if adventure, isn’t that what young adventurers like you live for?”

I’m not an adventurer and you know it, Therion thought, but the spear at his side made it clear what would happen if he said that. ‘For your protection,’ the king had declared, ‘so the commonfolk don’t trample you in their excitement. You’re the hero who will save them, after all!’

The nobles present had laughed at his joke, many muttering something like, “Foolish peasants”.

All but the sorrowful, golden-eyed girl, who just looked sadder with each word the king spoke. The princess, he knew, from the elegant dress and veil she wore. Bright gold, probably to complement her beautiful eyes.

Helios’ eyes, the sun’s eyes.

He tried not to think about the last woman he’d seen with such eyes. She was happy now, yes, with a loving -if drunken, but what else did he expect from his uncle?- husband, but before. . .

He did not think of Crete. He especially did not think of a cruel, greedy king named Minos, and a sad, starving beast trapped in a labyrinth.

The king he didn’t even know the name of was speaking again, so he forced himself to listen.

“. . . of course, you’ll need proper weapons. A sword, yes, and a shield-“

“My bow, milord,” he forced himself to say before he could think better of it.

The king-captor raised an eyebrow. “That twig we found you with?”

That twig was a gift from the goddess Artemis, he didn’t say. Instead, “It’s served me well for as long as I can remember.”

The king frowned, but waved a hand. “Yes, bring the young adventurer his bow,” he ordered a page, who bowed and scurried off. “Now, for your tasks!

“You must bring me the Gorgon Medusa, alive,” he began, a gleam in his blue eyes.

He’s insane. No one could do that! Therion thought, dismayed. Not even Father! Maybe not even Mother!

“One of my men had an encounter with it,” he continued, nodding towards the guard at Therion’s left, the man with the sword. “He’ll lead you to its last known location. After that, they will wait for your return.”

And make sure you don’t try to run, he didn’t have to say out loud.

“Next, you will fetch me a leprechaun’s gold,” the king declared. “From the end of Iris’ rainbow. And the leprechaun, while you’re at it.

“And finally,” he added, smiling slightly, “you’re a hunter, correct? Surely you can bring down the Golden Stag, then. Bring me these three things, and I will give you the hand of my most beautiful daughter, and half my current riches.”

Therion had to give the king a bit of credit. He was smarter than he looked. No one could bring down the Golden Stag, save Artemis herself.

Therion had to fight back a smirk of his own. Clever. But not clever enough.

“I accept your task, O Great King,” Therion declared. He accepted his bow and quiver from the page.

He looked back to the sad princess.

She looked back, sorrow filling her soulful golden eyes with tears. She didn’t want another “suitor”, another boy -because Therion was just a boy himself, he knew that, and the other “suitors” couldn’t’ve been much older than he was.

I will return, he promised her silently. I will return, and we will both be free.

For no one but the only son of Artemis and Orion truly stood a chance against these trials.

Therion forced himself not to smile.

Tricking the trickster.

Can I make it two impossible tasks?

This one might take me a bit, because I don’t know a whole lot about Anoriginal or Egyptian, but I will do it.

“Come on, Cerbe!”

A sharp trio of loud barks answered the woman’s call, along with the pounding of heavy paws and rapid panting.

The speaker, a beautiful young woman with flowers woven into her dark hair and summery dress, turned back as a massive brown thing leaped over her head, tripped over its gigantic paws, and skidded into the ground.

She laughed as the. . . dog? What kind of dog had three heads? bounced back up and licked her face with its massive tongues. She reached up and scratched the middle head behind the ears. The left head growled at the middle, and the dog’s (dogs’?) owner gave it the same treatment. Then she pushed the other heads aside to pet the smallest, white where the others were brown with white spots. “Don’t be mean to your little brother,” she scolded the other heads, who lowered in shame, “He deserves love just as much as you do.

“Now!” She stepped back, smiling, and took off at a jog, the beast lumbering on behind her. “We have to be back home by six, all right? There’s plenty of time to go to the dog park, isn’t there?”

A trio of happy barks answered her question.

“My name is Asterion. I am not a monster.”

A short pause, then,

“My name is Asterion. I am not a monster.”

Therion stilled, slowly sliding his bow off his shoulder.

“My name is- is Asterion.” The voice broke, interrupting itself with a soft sob. “I am not- I am not a monster.”

There’s someone else in here, Therion thought. He strung his bow with the ease of practiced fingers, and set an arrow to the string. He didn’t draw it, however; instead he summoned his courage.

“Asterion?” he whispered.

The labyrinth was silent. “W-who’s there?”

“My name is Therion,” he answered quietly. “Asterion is yours?”

He heard a low scraping sound, then the soft voice answered, “Yes?”

“How long have you been in here, Asterion?” Therion crept forward slowly, tightening his grip on the soft leather. “Are you alone?”

He could barely see in the blackness, but he could make out the hunched shape against the wall. It was. . . big. Very big. Bigger than a man, that was for sure.

His grip tightened. “Asterion?”

The shape shifted. Suddenly Therion had a terrible thought, one he didn’t want to voice but couldn’t help asking:

“Asterion, are you the Minotaur?”

Asterion wept, a hiccuping wail of grief and remorse and sorrow. “I-I’m a monster!” he wailed. “I’m a monster, Therion! A monster!

“My own mother thinks I’m a monster!”

Therion swallowed hard. “Asterion,” he said again, trying to ignore the frantic beating of his heart against his ribs.

“Are you scared of me, Therion? Are you scared?”

The boy was quiet for a long moment. “I. . . I don’t think so,” he answered slowly.

“It’s just- I’m so hungry, Therion, always so hungry! I can’t- I can’t control myself!” The Minotaur- no, Asterion wept louder. Therion flinched instinctively.

“I scare you, don’t I?”

Therion shook his head. “I’m not scared of you anymore. I don’t think you’ll hurt me.”

The shape moved closer to him. Therion held himself carefully still. Then he replaced the arrow in his quiver, unstrung his bow, and set it across his back again. “I don’t think you’ll hurt me,” he repeated.

“And I don’t think you want to hurt anyone else, either,” Therion continued. “I think you just want out.”

“I’ll hurt someone if I leave the labyrinth!” Asterion cried. “I- I hurt people!”

Therion’s vision sharpened slightly, and he gave a silent prayer of thanks to his mother.

Something darkened Asterion’s fur, seeping and dark. One of his horns was broken, hanging by a few sinews.

“People hurt you too,” he pointed out. “You’re bleeding.”

“I deserve it,” Asterion insisted miserably. “I hurt people.”

Therion was running out of words. How did he convince someone they didn’t deserve their suffering?

“I think the real monster is up there.” Therion pointed to the ceiling above them. “Minos.”

“He’s my father,” Asterion tried, but the words fell flat.

“What kind of father keeps his son locked up?” Therion shook his head. “I know a place. A wonderful place, I think you’d like it. You’ll be safe there. And it’s beautiful.”

He extended his hand. “Come with me,” he urged. “I’ll take you there.”

Asterion was still and silent for a long moment. Then-

“Okay.”

Therion smiled as a massive -but gentle- hand wrapped around his. “Let’s get you to your new home, Asterion.”

I am still working on these! I just write kinda slowly.

What is this story? I’ve never heard it before.

(I’ll do one per comment. And I’m starting with my absolute favorite that you posted, the third.)

“So. . . the god of death. . . is lovesick.”

Charon had to fight the urge to strangle this woman. Her tone was so freaking condescending, Charon (“of the infinite patience”, as his boss liked to call him) was on his last nerve.

And he didn’t even have nerves anymore!

“Lord Hades is the god of the dead, Ms. Karen, not the god of death itself,” he explained for the umpteenth time. “And yes. For half the year, Lord Hades is pinning for his lover, in Olympus.”

Karen raised an eyebrow. “And this effects me how?”

Charon of the infinite patience was about to punch a mortal woman’s soul in the face.

“It effects you,” he explained slowly, “because Lord Hades has a very short temper for people like you. People with your attitude, you self-centered cow. Now, get through the gate to Asphodel before I throw you to the depths of Tartarus myself.

“Go. Now.”